


Fabricated World

by inconvenientideal



Category: Ib (Video Game)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Art, Art Teacher Garry (Ib), Background Relationships, Character Development, Dark Past, F/M, First Love, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Garry is 30 years old, Guilt, Hallucinations, Heartbreak, Ib (videogame), Ib - Freeform, Ib is 19 years old, Internal Conflict, Memory Loss, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, One-Sided Relationship, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Past Drug Addiction, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, References to Depression, Sexual Frustration, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Smoking, Teacher Garry (Ib), delusional character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-05
Updated: 2020-05-14
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:13:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24021133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inconvenientideal/pseuds/inconvenientideal
Summary: Fluttering blue petals and the slightly sour taste of lemon.Ten years have already passed since Guertena's Exhibit - since the day that would've forever changed Ib.Now nineteen years old, she can't help but engage in the idea that there must be something that even if the mind tries to block out and make us forget, the heart will always remember.This is a story about Ib's life after that one day - and a story of reconciliation.
Relationships: Garry & Ib (Ib), Garry/Ib (Ib)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 17





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Well hello! Hope everyone is safe out there during these crazy times. 
> 
> I have been thinking about writing something related to Ib for a long time now - one of my all time favorites RPG games. I must admit Ib has always had a special place in my heart -- and the soundtrack is simply phenomenal.

_What is it exactly that you're looking for?_

**Sir, ma'am, we honestly don't know how to approach this -**

_After all these years..._

**We can assure you there's nothing wrong about her health, although her current mental state -**

_Fluttering blue petals and the slightly sour taste of lemon._

**She hasn't been very cooperative, her response abnormally slow to external stimulus -**

_Fire. A big hand taking her small one that holds the promise of safety and --_

_"Because..._ **_we will see each other again_ ** _!"_

* * *

'Ib... Ib... Ib!' 

She turns her attention back to the source of that irritating voice, her eyes drifting back and fourth to the dusty books on the shelves behind her interlocutor. The corner of her mouth curls almost imperceptibly downwards in poorly disguised displease as she notices the painting of a white-bearded man with a stern look in his eyes is slightly tilted to the left.

'Ib... are you still with me?' 

And how could she answer that stupid question? How could she explain for the umpteenth time, after years and years of therapy that no - it was _not_ easy for her to stay in one place at a time and that no - she _didn't_ need a glass of water to calm down.

'Of course. Let's move forward,' she crosses her legs once again, adjusting her left one on top this time, her fingertips brushing against the worn-out material of the old-fashioned sofa she was currently sitting on to ground herself.

If at that moment Mr.Lockhart felt somehow irritated with the young lady's demeanor - something he'd been long accustomed to - his usual stoic expression sure didn't betray it; he calmly cleared his voice before staring back at the pile of sheets neatly organized on top of the opened red folder in his lap. 

'We were talking about the day ahead - it's definitely a special one, right Ib? So, do you mind telling me what do you have planned for your birthday?'

Ib couldn't - _wouldn't_ help the soft scoff she let out soon after such an unfitting statement. 

_Special_. Like the way the doctors made the world inside her head out to be. _Special_ like that unbearable longing for that feeling of long lost safety - _special_ like warm smiles and pretty mouths that tell lies. 

'I was planning to go to the Guertena Exhibit downtown later this evening. Setting up a famous artist's exhibition of his latest works in the same city after such a long time seems... kind of odd, don't you think Doctor Lockhart?' her eyes shifted to the window on her right side, droplets of rain steadily making their way down the clear glass, 'Not that I would remember anything about that. According to my parents, the three of us went to his first exhibit on the day of my ninth birthday.'

Mr.Lockhart listened to the young lady's soft voice quietly and attentively, scribbling down some notes every once in a while - not nearly as much as he'd liked to, too preoccupied with appearing engaged in the conversation.

'And what has brought you to make that decision now, Ib? I remember you telling me before how you are not particularly fond of crowded places...' with an inquiring gaze, he patiently waited for an answer to come. 

'I'm willing to make an exception just for today. After all...' she willed her eyes - with such effort that she wished wouldn't go unnoticed - to stare right back into the green ones studying her, 'I think it might be a worthwhile effort for me to overcome my block. Or one would only hope so.'

Mr.Lockhart let a cold smile spread on his otherwise unaffected expression. A smile that didn't reach his steely green eyes - the motion making more lines appear down his flaccid cheeks, witnesses of time passing that only served to make the man appear even older.

'I think that is a good idea. You have not been able to concentrate on your paintings for quite some time after all, am I right?'

* * *

_'"Dear... what happened in here?"_

_Unscrewed tubes of paint scattered on the floor, splashes of angry red and blue and yellow - and that utterly disgusting, inconsistent shade of **purple** that only added to the girl's discomfort;_ _the black sketchbook's papers twisted and completely torn around Ib, currently sitting in the middle of her room crying._

_"I don't remember!! I **can't** , no matter how hard I try... why can't I?! What is wrong with me?!"_

_Her mother simply let out a soft sigh, moving carefully around the mess, crouching down to caress the top of his daughter's head - like she had done many times before._

_"Nothing is wrong with you my dear. Your nightmares have been preventing you from getting a good night's sleep for some time now, maybe you are just tired-"_

_" - You.DON'T.believe.ME!" Ib abruptly interrupted, moving away from that hand, "Because **they** don't believe me! You have NEVER really listened to what I say! You think I'm crazy like the rest of them - but why should something be disregarded as insignificant just because one's mind is trying to block a memory?!"_

_"I'm trying to understand Ib, I really am-"_

_"You aren't," Ib picks angrily at the skin around her nails, shaking, "you are too busy trying to convince yourself of that. Trying to convince yourself that you are doing everything that is in your power for your pitiful, unstable daughter."_

_Her mother just keeps her eyes set down on the messy floor, one single intact sheet of paper standing out amongst the current state of disarray surrounding the two of them, effectively catching her attention._

_"You really do like blue roses, Ib."_

_And the girl can't keep it in any longer._

_"GET.OUT.NOW!"_

* * *

'Are you sure about it, my dear?'

It's the young girl's father - his voice reaching her even as she's walking up the stairs, picking up her pace and determined to not let _any_ of the things her parents might say change her initial intention.

As she busies herself with shoving her old polaroid camera in her worn-out, black leather bag and fixes her red hair tie in her long brown hair (eventually settling for a low ponytail, giving herself a last dissatisfied look in the mirror as she does so, like usual) she hears knocking on her door. 

'Ib... sweetie, it's mom, can we talk for a minute?'

Ib sighs because she knows already - she _knows_ that if she even _tried_ arguing about it, telling her mother to go back downstairs and leave her be, she _wouldn't_ \- she simply walks to the wooden door, her feet dragging heavier on the floor with each step as she approaches the doorknob and wraps her delicate fingers around it.

Her mother doesn't waste any time making her way into Ib's room, studying her surroundings with that fake smile plastered on her face like it just _belongs_ there - a smile that hardly hides the uneasiness she feels every time she enters that room.

She looks her daughter up and down and takes in a deep breath - her collarbones sticking out as she does so, the vein on the left side of her neck steadily throbbing, betraying her apparent image of tranquility - fidgets with her hands as she says, 'I heard from your father that you plan on going to an art exhibit downtown right after tea time. I think that is a wonderful idea!' she steps closer to where Ib stands, carefully stroking the back of her cold hand on Ib's cheek, 'I think it's a wonderful idea but - but dear, I can't lie to you and say I'm not at all concerned about it.' 

_There_ it is - that condescending voice, that constant worry. Ib can't really blame her mother for such behaviors; because ever since that day when she was nine, that day in which things didn't quite work out and resulted in her getting lost in the art gallery - that _damned_ day that completely messed her up and made both of her parents question their validity as such -

_we should have never let you out of our sight!_

_why do you have candy in your pocket, Ib? You should_ never _accept anything from strangers!_

_Ib, dear, why aren't you answering?_

_...Ib... what's wrong? What happened?!_

'Mom... I am sure. I'm no longer a child,' she gently grabs her mother's hand in hers as she says so, bringing it to rest against her mother's side. 'It's my birthday after all, and it's something I've wished to do for quite some time now - I won't get lost, and nobody is going to hurt me, I promise you that.' 

Her mothers smile falters, her eyes looking deeply into Ib's red orbs, 'Please find your way back to us. Please don't make us worry- just _please_ , Ib...'

'I won't mom. I will be back just in time for dinnertime, trust me.'


	2. Welcome to the World of Guertena

_Breathe in,_

_breathe out._

The ninteen-year-old stood in front of the grand entrance of the old museum, standing still at the foot of those big, marble stairs; and as she kept repeating words of encouragment in her head (an unsuccessful attempt to soothe herself), she became all too aware of the cool wind caressing her exposed ankles - cursing herself for taking so long trying to give herself what she hoped to be somehow considered a " _pep talk_ ". 

_It's just a museum_ , she would chant over and over in her head. 

_It's not that scary_. _Nothing bad is going to happen_.

Eventually, the girl finally decided to take a step forward - head held up high as she did so, hoping to exude a sense of newfound confidence that would effectively serve as a cover for her unwarranted fears. 

'Are you here alone?'

The unfamiliar voice made Ib nearly jump out of her skin, startling the girl as she grasped her leather bag tight to her front. 

'E...Excuse me?' 

The woman couldn't have been older than forty - and Ib could easily tell she wasn't having the best day so far if the way she presented herself was anything to go by: the silklike fabric wrapped around the white collar of her blouse was wrinkled, the thin line of black makeup around her eyes vaguely smudged around the edges, strands of red hair coming out of her (once) tidy bun.

'Did you come alone? Or is there somebody else with you? Y'know, you gotta pay for a ticket if you wanna see today's exhibition: that's just how it works little girl,' the woman said, rolling her eyes for good measure; her voice tired from having to repeat the same thing time and time again whenever somebody new made their way through the entrance - and if the unkempt appearance did no justice to the woman's fine features, the hard scowl she gave Ib as she finished her sentence certainly _did_ match her irksome attitude.

The brief exchange made the girl feel extremely uncomfortable, her palms sweaty as she started itching all over: not quite sure if it was because of her anger, result of the unjust way she was currently being treated, or because of those words - 

_little girl_.

She cringed internally. _Probably both,_ she decided.

Blame it on her small built - something Ib had become accustomed to, something she did not have any control over - but that nonetheless managed to be a great source of distress to the young girl. 

Ib cleared her voice almost imperceptibly, 'I am fairly aware of how an art exhibition works. I'm here alone, so I suppose as an adult I have to pay full price, right?' The girl grimaced at her own choice of words, regretting the stress she put on the word _adult_ a second too late, suddenly all too conscious of how _childish_ her retort must have sounded.

The receptionist didn't even try to hide her snickering, looking the girl up and down. 'Sorry, thought you came with your parents or something. That would be $12.'

And as soon as Ib handed the required amount of money to the manicured hand that was presented in front of her, she wasted no time turning on her heels to leave the rude receptionist behind; allowing herself to let out a breath she didn't know she was holding - but oh so _relieved_ that the first (and hopefully _last_ ) conversation she had to entertain while at the museum was cut short soon enough.

* * *

She lost herself in Guertena's art.

She would walk through the pristine white hallways, gaze shifting back and fourth through each decorated side of the wall - and why did she feel so nostalgic all of a sudden? 

She couldn't possibly remember anything from her first visit at the museum, being just a little, _broken_ thing; her memory foggy and her thoughts running so fast she could hardly keep up with them - at one point, it felt like she was just going along with the path her feet decided to take on, blissful in her being completely, utterly _lost._

It didn't feel scary. On the contrary, in that exact moment - she felt like she _needed_ to witness all of this.

The weird shaped sculptures, those colors fighting wildly and mixing angrily on the same canvas, that beautiful rose -

_A rose?_

Ib slowly walked up to it, the golden plate next to it reading " _Embodiment of Spirit_ " - and her heart gave a painful tug. 

'What?... No, I definitely think this color suits it best,' the unknown, deep voice abruptly caught the nineteen-year-old's attention as she shifted her gaze from the beautiful, prominent sculpture and let it fall on the man standing behind it - messy, curly hair covering half of the bizarre man's face; his features screwed up in thought as he scratched his goatee, 'Yellow? No, I would say the most beautiful roses are red! Though I am quite a romantic in nature...' 

It was a that moment that Ib felt a chill run down her spine, freezing her on the spot - the man was _alone_. And he kept talking to himself as if he was in the midst of one of the most thought-provoking debates ever, trying to convince somebody else of his theory but still - absolutely _alone_.

'No Mary, come back here! I'm sorry if I said anything to trouble you!' at this point, the man had become the centre of many's attention, his strange mannerism and the unsual way he was dressed enough to make eyebrows raise and giggles arise - and although Ib could see that he was probably not in the right state of mind, she felt a strong pull towards that man that found it hard to distinguish imagination from reality.

She followed him out the gallery, her heart beating faster with each step - she stifled a small laugh when the tall man stumbled on his way down the stairs, long limbs thrown clumsily left and right to steady himself.

'Maryyy... I told you I'm sorry! Don't leave me...' Ib saw his shoulders rise and then fall slowly, trying to catch his breath, big hands threading through his messy locks as he crouched down, face in his hands. 

'S...Sir?' Ib walked up to him, voice so soft she wasn't sure he had heard her. 'Sir, are you alright?' 

The stranger's head shoot up at the girl's voice, eyes wide in surprise as she examined the girl in front of him. Now that the girl was close enough, she deliberatedly studied the other's features as if the man was an artwork himself - noticed the dark bags under his eyes, that long, hawkish nose with few visible freckles on it, thin lips chapped by the cold weather and a goatee. 

_He's not the type of beauty that just anyone could appreciate_ , Ib contemplated in the privacy of her thoughts.

'Huh... I'm not sure I know you?...' the stranger said with a mellow voice, thick with honey, eyes narrowing at Ib in suspicion as he hastily stood up, standing much taller than the young girl in front of him. Said girl took a step back, clearly surprised by the man's actions, her bag tightly grasped on her front. 

The stranger let out a sigh, rubbing the back of his neck uncomfortably. 'I'm sorry... I didn't mean to scare you. You were concerned about me and I acted like an asshole...' he looked around, a faint tint of pink dancing shyly on top of his cheekbones. 'My name is Garry.'

He extended a calloused hand to Ib, which at that point wasn't quite sure how to react - and ended up staring at that hand a second too long because - 'Ah, my hands are not that well groomed... huh, my job might be partly to blame...' 

The apologetic tone of voice making Ib shake her head, 'It's...It doesn't matter. Sorry, I just don't know how to behave with strangers,' _with anyone, really_ , she finished in her head.

A soft smile graced the man's - _Garry_ 's features, eyes immediately lighting up as he shook the small hand placed in his, 'Guess that makes two of us. What's your name?'

'Ib. My name is Ib.' 

Garry visibly tensed as he let go of the girl's hand. A name he was all too familiar with - the name that haunted him in his sleep, that would leave Mary's lips ever so often, a name so rare he couldn't have possibly forgotten - **Ib**. 

The nineteen-year-old retracted her hand and brought it to her old jacket, fiddling with the hem of the distressed material, 'I saw you before. You know, in front of that sculpture,' she gazed up to him, Garry drowning in those reddish pools that were her eyes, her lips curling up slowly. '...I like red roses too. Though I must admit, I find blue ones to be breathtakingly beautiful.' 

There was something about the girl Garry found to be extremely alluring - and at the same time extremely frightening.

Ib blushed under the attentive gaze, casting her eyes downwards. But she felt pride swelling in her chest: she had managed to initiate a conversation with someone after _so long_ , even if that someone happened to be a man probably twice her age that would still talk to his imaginary friends. 

_What a weirdo_ , she thought at first. _But probably not so different from me_ , followed soon after.

'...Well, nice to meet you, Ib,' Ib was snapped out of her thoughts at the deep voice, looking up to Garry once again, surprised to see a smile dancing on the other's lips.

'If you don't mind, we could go drink some tea one day and talk more about our taste in flowers?' 

The proposition caught the young girl off guard, every part of her body screaming " _No, you shouldn't, you just met him!_ " and-

'Sure, why not. I'm free for the rest of the evening.' she said instead, words rolling off her tongue easily.

Garry smiled. 

He had to find out more about the girl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Thanks for reading this chapter. Please let me know your opinion on this! I'm always down to read comments and to maybe find some constructive criticism to improve my stories :)


	3. Memory's Crannies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ib and Garry make the decision to leave the museum in favour of a warm cup of tea.  
> The more they talk to one another, the more similarities they discover. 
> 
> But Ib still can't quite put a name on the weird feeling sitting heavily on the pit of her stomach.

'Oh, there it is,' the man hugged his middle tightly as he pointed to the dimly lit Cafe, trying to shield himself from the biting wind, the bizarre man clearly underdressed for such weather. 'I'm glad I still remember how to reach this place... been a long time since I came here.' He gave the girl a small smile, one that was half hidden by his broad shoulders as he turned back to look at Ib.

As he courteously opened the glass door for Ib, the nineteen-year-old couldn't suppress the surprised gasp that left her lips as she stepped in: although the place had looked small and not all that inviting from the outside, the inside told a completely different story - small circular tables were embellished by a meticulously embroidered lace, the intricate design covering their surfaces; the walls adorned by golden frames and two lavish chandeliers bathing the inside of the newly discovered place in a warm light.

The smell of coffee, herbal teas and freshly baked pastries filled the young girl's nostrils as the two new custumers made their way to a table at the end of the room, sitting right in front of the big window that covered the entirety of a peach-colored wall; allowing Ib to gaze outside and study the hypnotizing way the rain's droplets would fall from one leaf to the other.

'Is this place to your liking?'

Ib pulled herself together; Garry's voice a gentle reminder that she had _not_ , in fact, come alone to such a place - and that it was something far from polite to leave her mind drift _God knows where_ when she was in the company of somebody else.

'Without any doubt. I didn't even know a place like this existed,' then again, it's not like Ib knew much about the city; preferring to spend most of her time holed up inside the comfort of her own room.

Garry brought his hand to his face, moving his bangs out of his left eye and letting it linger on his goatee as he looked at the girl - a gentle smile easily made its way on the older man's features, the faintest of wrinkles appearing around his coal black eyes. Ib's attention was focused on the man's hair in particular: as it caught the chandelier's light, strands of faded lavender were revealed - the weak color otherwise unnoticeable.

'I'm glad to hear that. I used to come here a lot a few years ago, when I was just at the beginning of my career,' he gazed outside the window, a nostalgic look crossing his eyes, 'but with work gradually piling up, it had gotten harder and harder to leave my apartment and relax with a nice cup of tea.' 

Garry shifted his attention to the man working behind the counter and raised a hand to draw attention to their table, 'Do you like macarons?'

Ib had never exactly been too fond of sweets , not even in her younger years. But seeing the excitement in the older man's eyes - _child-like_ , almost, at the mention of what was probably the man's pastry of choice - Ib settled for a silent nod as an answer.

* * *

As she took a sip of what could only be described as the best Jasmine tea she had ever tasted - Garry savoring his own Cinnamon tea across from her, the steam coming from the hot cup causing his cheeks to color just in the slightest - and a question came to the young girl's mind before she could stop herself; before she could dwell further upon what she _was_ or was _not_ allowed to ask the man.

It was unsettling, almost _scary,_ the girl thought; just how she had gone through _so much stuff_ throughout these past ten years, how she had become so accustomed to immediately distrust any individual that would unluckily cross her path, how she had found at such a young age how _strenuous_ it was to grow up in an world which she thought to be extremely _bewildering_ \- how the incessant discomfort she felt in her own skin had prevented the girl from establishing any sort of connection with anyone, really; falling deeper and deeper into this sort of "emotional anesthesia" she couldn't escape from. 

And Ib, above all else, had tried to cut everyone out of her life - even her own parents - because the girl just _knew_ that no one could ever possibly try to understand her nightmares, her broken mind, the darkness she had inside - _no one could ever love the damaged thing Ib was_.

But then, how was the man now sitting in front of her any different? He was still a stranger, after all - an _outsider_. Just some random person Ib could've easily ignored and whose existence would've been entirely erased from the girl's mind in a matter of a couple days at most.

'What do you do for a living?' she found herself asking instead, looking down at the golden liquid swimming in her porcelain cup.

Garry, for his part, couldn't help the way his eyebrows rose in surprise, caught off guard but all the same pleased by the fact that his shy companion had shown the smallest interest in him. 'I work as an art teacher for an Academy just outside of town. I must admit, I have been quite influenced by Guertena's works in the past,' he let his chin rest on the palm of his hand as he fiddled with the lacey end of his napkin. 'It's been five years since I started already. Man, time sure flies!' 

Ib liked the way the man spoke: calmly, thoughtfully; as if he considered each word carefully before saying them out loud. 

Something she wouldn't aknowledge though, at least _not yet_ , was the way the older male's husky voice made a warm sensation creep in her stomach.

 _How sly_ , Ib told herslef.

'I assume you must enjoy working in a field you're so passionate about, then.'

The man's eyes darkened instantly, eyes purposefully avoiding Ib's now. 'I... guess so.'

Ib knew at that moment that she had hit a nerve, something the man wasn't quite comfortable talking about - she had delved into dangerous territory, getting ahead of herself and making such stupid assumptions about a man she had just met and-

'I'm _so_ sorr-'

'But what about you, Ib?' Garry seemed to get over it relatively fast, bringing his other hand to support his chin, eyes wide with curiosity. 'Do you mind me asking your age? I've been meaning to ask for a while now, but I didn't know if it was alright for me to... oh God, don't think I'm some kind of creep now or something please!' hands put in front of himself in defense, Ib laughed a bit at the surprisingly apologetic man.

'It's... it's alright. I'm nineteen, freshly graduated from high school. Though I've been homeschooled most of my life, so I didn't exactly get to experience those wild and remarkable teenage years like they show in the movies,' she shrugged at that, dismissing it as if it didn't mean a thing to her; fishing for her camera inside her leather bag. 

'I enjoy taking pictures of things that I find beautiful,' she let the old polaroid camera rest on the delicate white cloth, 'and... I also paint, sometimes.' she added, giving a little smile that she hoped Garry found natural, and not at all clumsy or awkward.

The next expression she found on the man's face, though, almost made her burst out laughing. 'You...You're nineteen, huh?' crumbs falling from the side of his mouth, Garry tried to compose himself and not look so damn _shocked_ \- but hardly did a good job at that.

'I... I see,' setting the macaron he was in the middle of enjoying down, he pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. 'Nineteen... that makes me... eleven years older than you,' he mumbled under his breath, not sure if it was something he wanted Ib to hear or not. 'I don't think your parents would like to see their nineteen-year-old daughter hanging out with an old man,' he looked up to Ib and for once, the girl felt that the smile he gave her was not at all genuine.

Ib scoffed, irritated. 'My parents won't ever know about this... encounter we've had, if that's what worries you.' she assured the distressed man, crossing her arms on her chest, her jasmine tea long forgotten and growing colder by the minute.

'N...No! I don't... think that was what I was worried about?' he looked lost, confused; 'But... I also think that Mary is not going to take this well.'

Ib narrowed her eyes at the man. _Mary? His imaginary friend from the museum?_

'Mary?' she inquired.

The man nodded. 'Yes, she... she's kind of like my girlfriend, you see?' he looked down at his hands, almost shaking; 'Oh but... she has a very peculiar character, you know? She can be loving and kind to me, but also throw tantrums out of nowhere, like a little kid.'

_Girlfriend? What?_

'...Like what happened at the museum?' Ib asked, trying to go along with it - with something that was downright _delusional_ , most definitely _not real_ , and-

'Yeah,' he looked down at his lap sheepishly, 'she was saying that red roses are disgusting and yellow ones are far more unique and beautiful! But I actually find red roses to be the most enchanting! I was just saying what I honestly think, but of course she took it personally and... yeah, you saw what happened.'

 _No, I didn't_ , Ib answered in her mind. _Actually, nobody did. Because that girl, the one you call your girlfriend, doesn't exist._

'I... I see. Well, Garry, what about this,' Ib leaned over the table just a bit, her voice dropping lower - the secretive behaviour enough to pick the man's interest. 'I won't say a word about meeting you today to anyone, not even my parents. And you will do the same, with Mary.'

Ib gave him a mischievous smile, 'But you have to meet me again... please?' her gaze softened, 'Pinky promise?'

Garry let out an incredulous laugh escape his chapped lips, 'Putting the both of us at risk doesn't seem like a good idea though, does it?' he retorted, leaning closer to Ib's hand.

Red eyes stared deeply into onyx ones. 'We're not doing anything wrong. I just want you to be my friend,' a wave of courage washing over her, Ib grabbed Garry's hand gently and intertwined his pinky with hers. 'One time a week, that's all I ask for.' 

Ib tried to ignore it, tried to ignore how the warmth of the older man's hand reminded her so much of _home_ , how the smell of soap and tobacco soothed her. _This man **is** different, after all._

'Alright, alright, I give up.' Garry was quick to let go of the young girl's hand, settling back into his seat. 

Ib gave a rare, genuine smile. 'Are you busy on Fridays?'

* * *

'I'm home!' Ib announced before running up to her room, shutting the door behind her as she jumped on her bed, staring at the cieling as she thought about the many things that had happened in the last hours.

_"I'll leave you my phone number so that it's easier for us to arrange another meeting if you'd like", Garry had told her as he digited the series of numbers onto her phone._

_Ib had laughed at the formal way he had put it._

_"'I'm sorry it's gotten quite late, I should've been more careful. Are you sure you don't want me to walk you back home?"_

_"Don't worry, although I look small I am no little kid," Ib had said, jokingly._

_Garry smiled down at the young girl. "I enjoyed these hours together. Thank you for asking me if I was alright back at the museum and keeping me company. Text me when you make it back home."_

Ib suddenly remembered the short exchange they had had before the both of them went their separate ways, and immediately stood up from her bed to crouch down on the jacket she had carelessly thrown on the floor, looking for her phone in the pockets.

Knocking came from her door as she was immersed in her task, making Ib jump. 'W-What?'

Her father made his way into the room. 'Ib, do you have any idea how worried your mom and I were about you?' 

_Ah, should've seen this coming_ , Ib thought to herself as she lowered her gaze to the floor. 'I'm so sorry. I lost track of time and since I was hungry I decided to order something to eat out before coming home, my phone battery died, and-'

'Ib... no more excuses,' her father's serious tone made Ib shiver, and the girl still couldn't bring her eyes to meet her father's ones. 'Your mother was so worried I had to give her sleeping pills so that she could relax and rest, you know what that means? Do you ever consider other people's feelings, or are you so self-absorbed that you even manage to forget about your own parents?' 

Ib's father gave the girl one last disapproving look before turning away from his daughter's shaking form and placing his hand on the door's handle.

'Grow up, Ib.' And with that, he left the room. 

Black tears now streaming down her cheeks, Ib locked her door and walked to her bed once again, kicking her shoes off and using her sleeves to wipe away any trace of make up and sadness.

_**22:02** _

_**Ib : Thank you again for today. I enjoyed spending time with you. I'm home now.** _

Ib let the phone slip from her hand onto the floor, eyes heavy with sadness and sleep. She allowed herself to drift off to sleep, dreaming of jasmine tea and a strange with bizarre clothing and odd hair; of the scent of soap mixed with tobacco and warm smiles.

**_22:47_ **

**_Garry : Glad you're safe and sound. Thank you too, Ib - it felt nice to spend time together. I'm looking forward to seeing the pictures you take next time. And maybe you could elaborate on your love for blue roses?_ **   
**_Sleep well, Ib._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed this chapter!

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what are your thoughts and if I should keep posting next chapters!


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